


A Poem for a Friend

by jyuanka



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Gen, amateur poet killua, some foul language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jyuanka/pseuds/jyuanka
Summary: A shitty chance reunion ruins Killua’s day and brightens Kurapika’s.





	A Poem for a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> A fun fic not to be taken seriously based on my own headcanon about poet Killua on tumblr. Includes low-key Kurapika&Killua friendship and a Melody always in the know. Enjoy!

Killua refreshed the webpage. Maybe for the hundredth time in less than an hour.

Refresh. Refresh. Still nothing.

Ugh.

But then, perhaps he should be glad that there seems to be no activity whatsoever? Doesn’t that mean that no one read his post? Now he doesn’t have to be embarrassed about it at all, he could just pretend it never happened. He could be relieved that his little new hobby wasn’t getting any attention which subsequently meant he didn’t have to worry about feedback.

He could even delete it.

But then what? No matter how much he whirled around, the truth was, he really, really wanted to read what people thought of his poetry, he wanted to see actual opinions, opinions of other people, someone who had something nice to say, or something awful, though… can he take criticism? A voice in his head said yes, he can, of course he can, but a twig snapped in his brain and he knew that it wasn’t as simple as that.  

Killua was fine with criticizing himself, but taking it from others? He could take it, he could even be cool about it, but that didn’t mean hearing it won’t prickle.

Again, though, why should he worry? This wasn’t real life, this was the internet, and he was a virtual anon existing among millions of other anons; no one knew who he is. Those forums and websites he used to publish his poetry weren’t Hunter sites, he didn’t need his license to have access to them, no one can trace his activity and figure out who is behind the poetic musings under an obvious alias.

He could delete it, but he won’t.

Actually, Killua thought, it was fun. It was fun to be an anonymous blob in a vast sea of information, to do whatever you wanted, to have an alternate persona who liked classic rock music and cheesy romantic poems and aesthetic photographs of people who lived long time ago.

And in real life, he could be Killua Zoldyck, ex-assassin, a highly sought-after contract Hunter, and expert on all things brotherly.

He took a glance behind his back, into the darkness of the room, and couldn’t control his expression as it softened into a smile at the sight of the girl hidden under two blankets on the corner bed. Alluka was surrounded by pillows, befitting a Queen of her status, and only her mane of black hair was visible from under all the covers, overlaid with the glaring blue light from his laptop’s bright screen.

Not even she knew about the little things he did when she was asleep. Well, he was certain she’d be enthusiastic and supportive, like always, but still, he wanted to wait. Telling her was tied to the quality and the amount of feedback he was eager to receive; he couldn’t just show her trash poetry no one read, he must acquire evidence that will ruffle his feathers before her, and assure her that her brother does not fuck around, not even with poetry.

So for now, he refreshed the webpage. Again and again and again, and almost yelped in ecstasy when the stats were going high, with every click.  

Damn, he really does _not_ fuck around.

* * *

 

_“It’s like a book club, people go there and discuss literature. Basho will read his poetry, too. It’s very important to him, he wants you to come.”_

Of course they want him to come. Kurapika groaned over the phone.

“But Basho’s poetry is terrible.” He stated, propping himself up with pillows, careful not to wake the bed’s other inhabitant.

Melody giggled. _“I personally think it’s good, he tries his best you know that.”_

“But do I care?”

_“Well, I don’t know Kurapika, do you?”_

Kurapika sighed. “Where is it?”  

_“Stars Avenue, at a café by the same name. The rest will be there early, but I’ll be there at five thirty.”_

“Then I’ll pick you up from your hotel around that time, okay?”

_“Yeah sure, I like the special treatment.”_

Kurapika bid her goodbye, and quickly sunk back under the sheets, wrapping a leg around Leorio’s waist, forcing the man’s heavy arm around his smaller frame, and burying his face in Leorio’s broad chest.

_This_ was how he was planning to spend his one day break, in bed with Leorio, all day, sleeping, only awake for a quick fuck or food or the occasional visit to the bathroom, but apparently he had to meet his old coworkers over cheap alcohol and mediocre poetry, for some reason.

Damn Melody, he could never say no to her.

* * *

 

Killua’s face broke in the biggest grin he could muster without jumping out of his seat in delight. He read the messages sitting in his inbox, over and over again, his heart fluttering all over his chest. Wow. Wow wow wow.

The responses were marvelous! Absolutely fantastic. He could barely contain his joy. The feelings of validation were rushing through him like an unstoppable waterfall, the tingling he felt was so foreign. So much appreciation and praise for such a thing as poetry? As prose? He never imagined that so many people out there cared about that sort of thing, cared enough to send a comment or a message gushing about it.

Killua indulged himself, absentmindedly sucking what’s left of his chocolate milkshake and stretching his arms over the table, staring at the black text against a white page on his phone, amazed by it all.

One of the employees approached his table, face drawn in a cautious expression. “Are you finished, sir?” he pointed to the huge glass between his outstretched arms, now empty.

“Yeah.” Killua replied, still grinning.

“Is there anything else you’d like to order?”

“Yep, another glass of milkshake.”

The employee nodded, and was turning around to leave when Killua caught sight of his name tag.

“Also, Mars, your name?”

The guy turned around. “Yes?”

Killua beckoned for the guy to come closer, gesturing for him to lean over and offer his ear to what Killua had to say.

“Do you happen to know any place where there are… I don’t know, where they read poetry?”

Small brown eyes widened. “Yes I do. It’s not very far from here, actually.”

Killua smiled. “Great. Where is it?”

“Stars Avenue, they do the readings in a café by the same name. It’s pretty famous.” the employee replied, still taken by surprise from Killua’s question.           

“Thanks!”

The employee offered an awkward nod, and turned around to continue doing his job. Killua called after him, amused and excited. “Hey, don’t forget the milkshake.” He grinned. “Add extra chocolate.”

* * *

 

One step inside the café and the two of them were greeted with the deafening sound of applause. It wasn’t directed at them (he and Melody were fabulous, but their entrance was fairly mundane) but at the tall, slim woman standing high on a podium, bowing awkwardly to the cheering crowd.

Kurapika and Melody headed towards the table at the far right corner where their group was seated, and greeted everyone. Linssen offered a curt nod, while Basho's eyes were entirely transfixed on the podium where the woman, with brown hair and small eyes, still stood, still not sure whether she should leave her place to someone else or stand there for all eternity. Really, they had to remove her because she kept bowing, and she eventually stepped down escorted by two people, her face a blazing tomato. 

Kurapika hoped something equally embarrassing will happen to Basho. That was the only conclusion he’ll accept for this evening.

A man climbed the podium, dressed casually and holding a microphone. “And that was Julie Mars, everyone!” no one clapped except Basho. “Next we’ll have the wonderful Basho, whose poetry I’m sure many of you have missed, and after that, a newcomer who’ll be sharing his poetry with us for the very first time! Meanwhile, please enjoy your drinks.”

Kurapika leaned down, arms folded, to whisper in Melody’s ear. “People here miss Basho’s poetry? There truly are no standards in this place.”

Melody’s mouth twisted in an attempt to suppress a laugh. “It’s too late to back out now.”

“I knew it, you think his ‘poetry’ is bad too.”

“I think Basho’s poetry is fine. Mediocre, but fine.”

“You are only deceiving yourself.”

“At least he believes in his own creativity.” She glanced up at him, her mouth curled in a challenging smile. “Why don’t you try your own hand at writing, Kurapika?” She took a dainty sip from her glass. “I suggest satire.”

* * *

 

Killua saw Kurapika before Kurapika saw him.

It was only by sheer dumb luck that the moment Kurapika entered the café, he looked right first instead of left, giving Killua enough time to draw his hoodie over his head and slouch down in his seat. If his blond head had moved the other direction, there was no way he wouldn’t have seen Killua. There was no way their eyes wouldn’t have met.

Killua was truly freaking out. After that brute up on the podium finishes reading his sappy love ode to the moon, it was Killua’s turn to climb there. He was panicking now and it had nothing to do with stage fright. He had to find a quick way to slip out of the whole thing and try his luck somewhere else. Or never. Really he should have been content with his online platform but he was still high on the praise and compliments.

He thought he could take on the world, but Kurapika rose like a giant middle finger in Killua’s path towards wider recognition. Towards fame!

He had to get a grip, this was just some poetry reading, he could always come back for a second try during less unfortunate circumstances, but Kurapika’s presence smacked him with a very crucial fact which had escaped his head: this place was infested with Hunters.

This was Swaldani City, after all, what better place for Hunters to gather than the city known for housing the Hunter Association’s headquarters?

A place filled with a bevy of poetry-loving Hunters was really not the best place to come out as an amateur poet, even though that’s exactly what most people here were, just a bunch of people taking breaks from tasking jobs to enjoy something they loved, but he still couldn’t do it, not in front of one of his friends whom he hadn’t seen in almost a year. A friend who read more than anyone else and will probably think of Killua’s poetry as utter crap while pretending to like it with that infuriating neutral expression he wore so well.          

Maybe Kurapika being there was a good thing. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe he should appreciate that if not for this coincidence, Killua would have cooked himself right into his own fuck up by reading his own poetry in front of them.

Yes, Kurapika being there was great. All he had to do now was simply tell them to scratch his name off the list today and slip out of the place and pretend that nothing had happened. There really was no reason to freak out.

Killua sauntered over to the stage guy who was pretending to be awake in his seat under the podium. He leaned over the man, pointing with his chin to the muscle-head reading his verse. “Really boring, huh?”

The stage guy looked at him, and then back at the podium, his eyes glazed and drooped in wretched boredom. “He never stops coming.”

Killua snickered. “Well, look, something came up.” he said, gaining the man’s attention. “So I need you to scratch my name off the list, I won’t be able to read this evening. I’m very sorry about that.”

The stage guy stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “I can do that.”

He thanked him, and was turning around to leave when a hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

“Killua?”

* * *

 

Kurapika had no doubts to whom those ugly-ass shoes belonged.

He and Leorio had had a good laugh about them a couple of months ago, when they were sent a picture of Gon, Killua and Alluka holding what appeared to be a giant fish above their heads. Leorio, per habit, had the picture framed and placed neatly on his desk, though they tried to make the frame wide enough to cover the insanity that their white haired friend apparently decided was acceptable footwear.

He took a sip of his wine, watching the wired black-clad figure melt into his chair. There was no other indicator that this was Killua except the shoes, but there was no doubt it was him. His _Zetsu_ was perfect. Too perfect, in fact, that if Kurapika was to spread his _En_ , he would only feel an empty space where Killua sat, and that skillful application of _Zetsu_ could only be achieved by Killua.

What couldn’t be achieved by Killua, however, was a decent fucking disguise. Kurapika was getting secondhand embarrassment from this absolutely dismal attempt at looking like someone else. Kurapika himself was, after all, a master of disguise, and now that he thought about it, he really should have devoted some of his time to giving the other three lessons on how to conceal their true appearances, but he couldn’t be bothered; there was a big chance that if they learned from the best (him), they’ll surpass him and that was not a chance he was willing to take.

His first guess was that Killua was here as part of a job. The boy was a contract Hunter, which meant he could do literally anything, any gig, which could happen anywhere and take him many places, that not only explained why he would choose to conceal his presence so thoroughly, but also why he was in Swaldani to begin with.  

But, why here, in such a well-known place? If whoever Killua was searching for had enough sense in them, they wouldn’t come to a place full of Hunters. But, what if the person in question was a Hunter themselves?

Kurapika surveyed the hall, and he could recognize almost every Hunter present. He was their senior, a Zodiac, he knew them by name and field of expertise. They all looked relaxed, merry, their nen contained and non-threatening. In fact, Killua was the only one using _Zetsu_ in the entire café.

That led Kurapika to his other guess. The boy was hiding from someone. Maybe someone outside the café, maybe someone in the city. Could it be his own family? Kurapika’s heart banged with concern, he was now feeling less amused and more worried.

If any Zoldyck was in the city, Kurapika would have been notified immediately. He was head of the Intelligence Department, the entirety of Swaldani City was under his hands, and the Zoldycks didn’t exactly care to hide, or pick fights in one of the cities with the largest concentration of Pro Hunters. One cry from Leorio or Morel was enough to rile the entire Association behind Killua’s back and in front of him. The Zoldycks simply had no chance to fuck around, and they understood the advantages of maintaining amicable relations with Hunters, and most importantly, they had stopped pestering Killua and Alluka for such a long time now that Kurapika couldn’t think of a reason why they’d choose to do so now, after years of neglecting the chase.

Well, he could walk up to Killua and ask, maybe say hi first, but he reconsidered. If Killua was here for a reason he found important enough to conceal his presence for, then drawing attention to him would expose his cover, but even with this possibility, Kurapika found no reason to be worried. Everything was under control, and if trouble presented itself, this little café was full of Hunters capable of swiftly handling it.

Well, he decided, anything better than sitting here and listening to Basho.

* * *

 

Killua called **_bullshit._**

This kind of shit only happened in badly written stories. There was no way this was Kurapika’s voice, but it was. It was and it caused his entire body to tingle with dread.

How did Kurapika recognize him? It couldn’t be his hair, it’s much shorter and less ruffled than it used to be, and it was well hidden by the hoodie. Nen? Impossible, he wasn’t using any, on the contrary, it was well suppressed because his body had reacted naturally to his desire for invisibility by unconsciously activating his _Zetsu_ , and thus rendering him nonexistent to Kurapika’s senses while still being physically visible from across the hall, and Kurapika knew him well enough to know that his application of _Zetsu_ was unrivaled. Was that it? It must be, but that would still require for him to be in Kurapika’s sight and displaying familiar physical attributes recognizable enough for the latter to know who he was.    

“Killua, is that you?”

It didn’t matter, he will play it cool, he will lie, he will weasel his way out of it there’s just no way Kurapika and his frustratingly well-maintained, casual tone can defeat him.

He turned around. “Kurapika? Whoa man been a while.” He grinned. “How’s it going?”

Kurapika smiled. “Right now? Pretty boring.”

Killua shook his head, pointing with an unabashed thumb at Basho. “He’s never going to finish, is he?”

The two shared an amused, exasperated snort, but Kurapika’s face quickly contorted in worry, and he pulled the two of them to the side, leaning over to speak with him in a hushed tone. “Are you alright here?”

Killua looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

Kurapika hummed. “Well, nothing, it’s just so unexpected to see you in such a place. I assume you’re here on business?”           

Yes. Yes he was.

“Yeah, I’m hunting for someone, but seems I got swindled.”

The blond nodded. “I see.” He smiled at Killua. “I can help you if you want.”

No, he really couldn’t.

“Nah thanks, actually I was just about to leave.”

“Let me buy you a drink at least.” Kurapika maintained that measured, almost creepy smile on his face. “It’s been a while, no?”

It’s been a while alright, and Killua really liked to spend time with the blond (who else to be salty with, really?) but right now, Kurapika was nothing but a gigantic **_bazinga_** up Killua’s ass, and he wanted nothing more than to end this encounter as soon as possible, but really, he had no reason to decline Kurapika’s offer, he would just look suspicious, and besides, he refused to use an Alluka-oriented excuse to snake away from the heavy hand on his shoulder. He will soldier through, that was the best choice.    

As he took a seat back at his table, waiting for Kurapika to arrive with their drinks, Killua thought about his luck. Of all his friends, it just _had_ to be Kurapika. With simple-minded fools like Gon or Leorio, he could easily get away with a hundred reasons for his presence in this particular place at this particular time, but with Kurapika, it would be much more difficult; the blond possessed a gift for deduction and reasoning, and he was observant enough to put two and two together. Killua would be silly to even think that Kurapika has lost his edge. Not even fucking Leorio could that to him.

When the other arrived, he steeled himself, already spinning countless lies in his head, few of them made sense, however. Kurapika returned, taking the seat across from him and sliding him a glass of lemon beer. “So, who’s this person you’re hunting after?”

Killua shrugged. “A thief. He stole something precious from my client.”

“And you had information he would be here?” Kurapika asked, skimming the tips of his fingers over the rim of his glass, his large brown eyes fixated on Killua.

He didn’t like it. Kurapika was the only person who could hold his own in a staring contest against him, and that was a feat not to be taken lightly.

“I did, but it turned out _shit_.” Killua answered with exaggerated annoyance, taking a large gulp from the cold beverage. “I guess I should have known better.” He smiled. “I told you, I was just about to leave when you found me.”

Kurapika hummed. “You were being awfully relaxed for a guy who was ‘just about to leave’, though.” The blond took a slow motion sip from his glass. “You had me worried.”

Killua’s heart skipped a beat. Kurapika was being a cordial asshole. It was nothing new, really, but now he was doing it just to find out if Killua was hiding something, and Killua despised those finagling ways of his, even though he wasn’t above using them himself.  

“I gotta admit the place is a bit nice, so I decided to drink something.” He said. “I felt pretty cozy.”

“I bet you did.”   

“Whatever, it’s not like I’m going to cry over a false lead.” Killua said, chugging down half his drink. “So how’s Leorio anyway?”

Kurapika’s eyes glinted, but the sign of affection didn’t spread to the rest of his face. He had such skill at schooling and controlling his expressions Killua was almost envious. “Leorio’s fine. I was supposed to spend today with him, but well,” he threw a displeased glance behind his back. “Others had plans for me.”

Killua sniggered. “Yeah, I can tell.” Good. This conversation was going in a good direction. If he could completely steer it to focus on Kurapika and away from himself that would be very good. “But I bet being with Leorio is even more boring than listening to this guy.”

Kurapika’s lips curled into a fake smile. “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘being with Leorio’, there are many ways of being with him and they’re all pretty good.”    

“I meant sex.” Killua shot at him with a smirk. “I bet you two have the most boring sex on earth.”

Kurapika graced him with a smirk and a sly gaze from behind half-lidded eyes. “Not when we are donning our Zodiac costumes, no.”

That was the last picture he’d _ever, **ever**_ like to have in his head of those two, yet he was defenseless against the barrage of images that invaded his imagination. They were all equally awful and disturbing to varying degrees. “What have those freaks done to you up there?”

Kurapika’s smirk widened. “I would have told you, but it’s the most boring thing on earth.” 

* * *

 

Kurapika will not lie, messing with Killua was pretty fun. The boy thought he was good at manipulation and trickery, but Kurapika was just as good, if not better. He used to be a prominent member of the mafia, after all, plus, he had more years of experience at his side, the difference between them was that deception came almost naturally to Killua, while for him it was a mere skill acquired by careful observation, and not something he particularly enjoyed doing.

That said, Kurapika was truly having a good time. He was already beginning to form an idea of why Killua was there, while simultaneously having no interest whatsoever in verifying the truth. He was glad that his friend was in no kind of danger, but still not entirely balanced, either.

To the normal eye, Killua would look like a regular guy, all smiles and gestures and the occasional sarcasm, but to Kurapika, every little detail was an absolute delight. Those years really did change him from a cheerful albeit guarded boy with a foul mouth to an open and social young man with an even fouler mouth. Kurapika had found himself actually missing their conversations, yet no matter how much Killua tried to twirl around, Kurapika was awake and alert to his various attempts at changing the conversation, and decided to play along, for no other reason but respect for Killua’s obvious desire to guard his secrets, whatever they were.

The four of them had an unwritten code. A silent agreement of sorts, that there was no need to reveal everything to one another. Each one of them had absolute right to sit over their own secrets and not share them; it was alright to not know everything if it resulted in no harm, it did not mean their bonds were any less valid or real, and it definitely did not mean that they had no trust in one another.

“Killua, if you and Alluka are staying here, visit us sometime in HQ.” Kurapika offered. “I have cookies and tea.”

Killua rolled his eyes. “Yeah grandma, cookies and tea, how tempting.”

“I hear you have enough money to buy a house of chocolate.”

Killua laughed. “Maintenance would be a bitch though.” 

Kurapika chuckled, swallowing down the last of his drink. “Of course, don’t expect me to come knocking on your salty crackers door anytime soon.”

Killua smirked. “Who said you’re invited?”

“Fair enough.” Kurapika put down his empty glass, taking a glance at the group he left behind. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to go.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Kurapika stood up, readjusting the hem of his pants around his waist. “I’m really glad I got to see you and sit with you. This was a nice coincidence.”

Killua nodded. “Yeah, feelings the same.”

“I’ll see you around, but…” Kurapika started, looking pointedly at Killua’s face. “If you ever decide to drop by in my office, you’re better not coming in wearing these shoes.” He shifted his eyes to the younger man’s feet, an expression of utter distaste plastered on his face, then he slowly looked back up. “They’re an atrocity and I will not allow them anywhere near my work space.”

* * *

 

Melody pressed the dial button, and leaned over the railing of her hotel room balcony. It took a while for her call to be picked up, and the voice at the other end came out breathless and exceedingly annoyed. She held the phone away from her ear.

“Killua?”

_“Who is this?”_

She smiled. “It’s me, Melody.”

_“Ah yeah hi.”_ He stumbled. _“I don’t have your number.”_

“Now you do.”

_“Yeah, obviously. What is it?”_

“Nothing.” she lied. “You just left the café a bit distraught, so I wanted to check on you. That was some heartbeat you had there.”

His reply came out a screech. _“I don’t understand, what’s with my heartbeat?”_  

Melody tapped her fingers against the railing. “I’ve heard and recognized your heartbeat the moment Kurapika and I entered the café.”

She gave him a moment to process her words before continuing. His voice stammered in an attempt to form a reply but he returned to silence. She took this as a sign to go on. “What I heard when we entered was really wonderful; excited and nervous, but in a good way, the heartbeat of someone preparing themselves to speak in front of a crowd.” She hoped he can sense the smile behind her words. “I knew immediately why you were there.”

_“And you told Kurapika.”_

She frowned at his suggestion and his tone of voice. “The sudden change in your heartbeat once you saw us confirmed to me that you had no desire to reveal the reason behind being there, so no, I _didn’t_ tell Kurapika, and I would be disappointed if you really think I’m that kind of person.”

He was silent for a moment, and she could hear him taking a deep breath.

_“I’m sorry.”_

She hummed. “Apology accepted.” When he didn’t say anything, she added. “I want to apologize too, about how we ruined it for you. You were really excited about it, weren’t you?”

Killua snorted. _“Yeah, kind of.”_     

“I’ll be in Zaban City during November.” She said. “There’s a great place there called The Colony where they read poetry every night, maybe I’ll see you there?”

A hitched breath. _“Yeah, maybe.”_ He wanted to say something more, so she remained silent. _“Melody?”_

“Yes, Killua?”

_“Could you please not tell Kurapika about this? I think he already sort of knows anyway but still, you know?”_

She closed her eyes against the cold breeze. “Of course, I had no intention of telling him to begin with.”   

She could practically see his faint smile. _“Thanks, I appreciate it.”_

“You’re most welcome.”

_“Another thing,”_ Killua said. _“How did he figure out it was me? I suspect it had something to do with my Zetsu but I’m still confused.”_

Melody laughed. “I think it’s the shoes, Killua.”   

* * *

 

Killua had spent the remainder of the evening rummaging around the room and fishing in his laptop and cellphone for any evidence (pictures, emails, postcards, anything) that showed him or even _alluded_ to him wearing or possessing his purple shoes (and they were fucking great, and hella comfortable, despite Kurapika’s shit stained opinion and his backward, finicky attitude regarding popular trends).

He found one, and only one: a picture from that day when he and Alluka visited Gon in Whale Island and went fishing together, that kind of picture Gon had no problem passing around to their friends, so Killua was fairly certain this same picture had found its way to the other two and was now framed somewhere in Leorio’s office.

Kurapika that persnickety dick.

 


End file.
